


The Master

by Geriatricfool



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geriatricfool/pseuds/Geriatricfool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written pre movies and decades before reboot, this story is set many years after the first 5 year mission. Rescued from hard drive limbo. A fluffy romance. The Star Trek characters are property of Paramount, the original characters are all mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Master

THE MASTER

“No!”  
“T’Kell!”  
“I will not!”  
“T’Kell!!”  
“I fail to understand how you could give serious consideration to an idea so preposterous…”  
“T’Kell!!!”  
She met her father’s eyes, and her gaze dropped momentarily, affording him the opportunity to continue.  
“The idea, far from being ‘preposterous’, is entirely logical,” he said. “The comparison of the psycho-engrams….”  
“The psycho-engrams…..”  
“T’Kell! You will not interrupt me!”  
She stopped again, fury radiating from every upright inch of her frame.  
“The comparison of the psycho-engrams indicates a compatibility ratio of 54.3, which, as you know….”  
“I know,” she seethed.  
“His family connections and reputation considerably enhance his suitability in that….”  
“His family!” T’Kell could not restrain herself.  
“His family,” returned the harassed Suved firmly. “It is an honour that the clan of S'chn T'gai should consent to their joining with our family – an honour you would do well not to ignore.”  
“Father –“ She paused, and took a deep breath. “Father,” she began again more calmly. “I am well aware of the high standing of the S'chn T'gai clan. It is not that side of the family that concerns me. And…” She rushed on, forestalling her father’s attempted interjection, “…as for his reputation, he has spent most of his life wandering the space-lanes in a Federation starship, and the only ‘reputation’ of which I have heard tell in connection with him is that of a warmongering outsider who deserted his own people to…”  
“T’Kell, your outburst not only disgraces your dignity but also displays your woeful ignorance. As a living example of our philosophy of IDIC…”  
“Yes! You can preach of IDIC, but you practise it on me!”  
“T’Kell. Suved. I think you have both said quite enough.”  
T’Kell’s heart sank, and then rose again a little, as hope fluttered.  
“T’Kell,” said her mother again, “the matter is closed. The arrangements have been made by the High Council, and you will bond with Spock. I suggest that a period of meditation in your room will help you reconcile yourself to the fact.”  
“But mother –“ T’Kell swallowed hard, and made one last attempt. “He is so much older than I am!”  
“3.3 years more than the difference in ages between your father and myself,” responded T’Mena, perhaps a little primly.  
This time, T’Kell’s heart plummeted. When her mother joined in a family argument, which she seldom did, her word was law.  
Suved looked smug.  
“Suved, harsh words have been spoken today. Perhaps if you too were to retire to compose yourself, we will see peace restored at last meal.”  
Suved and T’Kell glared briefly at her, and then at each other, before they retreated from the room and disappeared in opposite directions, leaving T’Mena the unspoken victor, as always.  
Meditation did nothing to restore T’Kell’s equilibrium. “When will he be coming to Vulcan?” she asked, as they cleared the table after the evening’s meal. “I expect we have to wait until he gets leave of absence.”  
“T’Kell,” replied her mother patiently, “a scientist of Spock’s standing is governed only by himself, and he can ‘leave’ whenever he wishes. You know as well as I do that he left Starfleet twenty years ago, and I cannot understand why you persistently maintain this façade of childish ignorance if the facts of the situation. As to your question –“ she went on hurriedly, “the High Council notified him only three days ago of our acceptance of their selection, and we therefore do not know when he will return to Vulcan.”  
“Their selection?”  
“Yes, theirs. T’Kell, Spock did not apply to the High Council for permission to bond with you. His family requested, with his consent, that a suitable bondmate be found.”  
“So he may not even have heard of me!”  
“Oh, I expect that he has heard of you. Our family is not without influence in…T’Kell!”  
But T’Kell had already left the room and, as her parents contemplated each other mournfully over the dinner plates, they heard her bedroom door shut, firmly enough to be almost considered a slam.  
If only…if only Senen still lived.  
But it is illogical to dream of what might have been. Her bondmate was dead, and her parents were within the bounds of their parental responsibility to find another for her.  
But not, surely, to palm her off on an ageing Starfleet alien who had not even heard of her and who wouldn’t even be there…  
She felt stinging at the back of her eyes, and fought for control. But it was long, long minutes before this was achieved.

 

Suved felt discomfited and berated himself for the weakness. As days and then weeks passed, and T’Kell returned to at least a semblance of her usual sanguine and dutiful self, he found to his annoyance that a small niggle which had planted itself in his mind at the time of his daughter’s initial response to the proposed bonding would not shift, despite the best efforts of logic and meditation. He could not confront it, as it would not be pinned down, and he could not ignore it. He felt uncomfortable. Therefore, when he looked up from the desk viewer in his sun-filled room at the Science Academy to see the man himself standing before him, his immediate reactions of alarm and embarrassment were quickly superseded by one of a kind of relief.  
“Spock,” said Suved.  
“Suved,” said Spock.  
They looked at each other.   
“Please,” said Suved, indicating a comfortable chair across the room. “Be seated.”  
They both crossed the room, and said facing each other.  
Suved wondered what to say. Spock solved his problem.  
“The reason for my seeking you out at your place of work was my wish to speak with you alone, before approaching the other members of your family.”  
“Yes.” Suved paused, and cast a glance out of the window. “My daughter has not yet seen you?” he asked.  
“The only people who know that I have come here are those Spaceport officials who witnessed my arrival.”  
“Ah.” Suved felt disturbed again, particularly in the face of Spock’s cool self-assurance. The visitor was sitting motionless and apparently utterly relaxed, radiating a calm control that made Suved feel like a schoolboy with sand in his hair.  
“I am… er…” Suved considered what he was, and realized that it was not something he wished to disclose to his prospective son-in-law. He started again, efficiently. “You wished to see me.”  
“Yes,” said Spock, patiently.  
Suved the schoolboy mentally shuffled his feet.  
“I assume,” said Spock, “that your response and that of your wife to the proposed bonding is favourable, since you signified acceptance to the High Council. However, I wished to speak with you about the reaction of your daughter.”  
Suved started a little. “How did you know?” he asked, sharply.  
“How did I know what?”  
There was a pause.  
“Ah,” said Suved, eventually.  
He felt mortified, as he realised that Spock, as all-capable as he appeared at this moment, could not possibly know anything of events within the privacy of Suved’s own household.  
“Then another of my assumptions was also correct?”  
The voice was feather-light and, had it not been so very improbable and inappropriate, Suved might have thought that it was laced with amusement. As it was, Suved abandoned any attempt at saving face, and instead said earnestly, “She is young and – headstrong, as so many young people are. Since the death of Senen she has engrossed herself in her career – you know of her achievements at the Music Academy? – and now she simply resents any interruption of her plans for the future. In a short time, as she accustoms herself to the idea and….”  
“Suved.”  
Spock’s voice was quiet and even, but had the effect of shutting off Suved’s speech as effectively as if he had severed the larynx. He had not, as T’Mena had reminded her daughter, served in Starfleet for twenty years, but the many years of command prior to his resignation had been neither forgotten nor wasted.  
“Suved,” he said again, once sure that he had the other’s attention. “The fact of your daughter’s opposition is not in question. I wish to ascertain, from you if possible, the degree of that opposition. I had hoped to obtain a full and accurate assessment before meeting the lady.”  
Suved coughed. “Spock,” he said. “I do assure you once more that it is nothing more than the foolishness of her years….”  
“Suved, I too must make myself clear.” Spock leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. “Should T’Kell’s opposition to this bonding be as intractable as I had surmised it might be and as your denials would indicate that it is, then I have no intention of pursuing the matter further.”  
“But…”  
“I understand your concern…”  
“Spock! You must understand also that children must learn discipline. This match is entirely suitable from every point of view, and should it be abandoned for no other reason than the whim of a child…”  
“She is your daughter, Suved,” broke in Spock, rising to his feet, “and to you she is a child, to be controlled. I would remind you, however, that she is also a woman, and one who may become my wife.” Spock shook his cloak back into place and checked the shoulder clasps as he continued. “I mean no disrespect to your family, and I am honored that you should consent to this union. I am favorably impressed by all that I have heard of her, and would be most willing to effect this bonding, but only if we are both able to approach it truly positively. Both of us. And now I will, if you will excuse me, make my way. Is your daughter at home?”  
“Spock?”  
“Yes?” said Spock, as he turned back from the door.  
“I… er…. Do you know what she looks like?”  
“I have seen the holos sent to me by the High Council.”  
“Holos?” Suved frowned in surprise. “The High Council did not send her holos of you.”  
The corner of Spock’s mouth twitched slightly.  
“A wise precaution,” he remarked dryly, and then went on before Suved could react. “Where can I find her?”  
“Ah… she practises her music each day at the Academy. She has two rooms on the fourth level. Spock!” Suved managed to resist the temptation to grab Spock’s shoulder and forcibly restrain him from leaving, but Spock paused again anyway.  
“Suved,” he said, “I only wish to meet her. I will not make any decisions today. Please do not be concerned.”  
“Of course,” replied Suved, with a confidence he did not feel. “You will eat with us this evening?”  
“Thank you, but no. I have rooms arranged, and it may perhaps prove advisable to keep my presence down to a minimum until…”  
“Quite,” said Suved, fervently.  
“Suved,” said Spock, bowing his head. He left in a swirl of dark blue cloak, leaving Suved to pace his floor in the sunny peace and quiet of his office.

 

While he paced, and sat, and rose to his feet again as the day wore on to its close, T’Kell was also prompted to abandon dignity, though unfortunately in a more public manner than her father. The third, seventh and eighth strings of her lytherette snapped simultaneously, almost blinding and strangling her, forty five minutes before her lesson with Soran. It was fortunate that she had chosen to practise at home that day rather than at the Academy. The music halls were nearer to her home. She grabbed cloak, lytherette and music case and set off at an embarrassing trot, oddly deaf to her mother’s admonishing cries from the solarium window.  
…and had to wait when she reached the halls, because someone else was buying something and there was no-one else to serve her. Oh, the agony of it. And the agony of not showing the agony to the proprietor, who knew her well, nor to the man to whom he was attending so deferentially. T’Kell had always enjoyed all due attentiveness and politeness there, but never any deference that she had particularly noticed, and, while she waited and resigned herself to being late for Soran’s lesson, she fell to a perusal of this customer who commanded such attention from the normally sanguine proprietor.  
Hmm.  
Interesting.  
The cut and fabric of his expensive clothes indicated material affluence, and the casual suavity with which he carried them on his long, lean frame indicated accompanying high birth and social standing. From his stance, even whilst absorbed in the examination of the varnishing on various sound boxes, he appeared a man of considerable energy and purpose – the cloak was pushed back over his shoulder as though to prevent it hampering his movements, and the soft knee-high boots were clearly designed for comfort and hard wearing as well as for their elegance. The minute touches of silver encroaching on the shining black of the hair betrayed an age not otherwise apparent from the strong smooth lines of the finely structured face. His head, as he surveyed the merchandise before him, was held slightly to one side, and his bearing was relaxed, but he nevertheless exuded an aura of such confident authority that the sudden change in the proprietor’s demeanour was at once explained in full.  
Only when the stranger turned his gaze full onto her did she realise that her casual perusal had degenerated into a frank stare. Shame began its inexorable trudge upwards from toes towards forehead; but was brought to a surprised halt just short of her throat by the – quizzical? – friendliness? – in the quirk of the right eyebrow and the quiet warmth in the deep brown eyes.  
She found herself wanting to smile at him. And then she realised that she had already done so.  
With the slightest bow of the head he acknowledged her presence publicly, and then turned his attention once more to the samples of wood varnish on the counter.  
“This one is the most suitable,” he said.  
(T’Kell mused from her new vantage point at the other side of the hall that the voice well matched the appearance.)  
“I will take three bottles. You can send them to my rooms. I thank you.”  
The transaction was concluded so rapidly that the ever-suave proprietor was caught jaw agape as the stranger turned, unhurriedly but swiftly, and strode from the hall into the busy arcade beyond.  
It was some seconds before both he and T’Kell collected themselves sufficiently to turn to each other.  
“Which strings, T’Kell?” he enquired blandly.  
He had got in first, as usual.  
And, to her great relief, she got in first for her music lesson, and Soran didn’t even seem to notice that she had been hurrying, though it seemed so obvious to herself. His were the opinions she truly valued, she had found, and it had been he and not her mother who had called to her from the house to stop running, she would have felt mortified. It had taken many months before she had been able to admit to herself that she held a music teacher in higher esteem than she did her own parents, and all the meditation in the galaxy had failed to assuage her of the deviation.  
However, as her father frequently remarked about most things, she was young, and it may pass.  
Her lesson was a success, and Soran appeared to have almost reconciled himself to her choice of a piece to put to the Selectors for the Festival, although she knew that in reality the final choice must be left to him. She knew as well as he what kind of work the Selectors would favour, and she knew better than he that to jeopardise her chance of an appearance at the Festival at her age for the sake of an insistence on playing a piece of her own composition would be folly.  
But not pride. Soran knew it was a fine piece. He hadn’t said so, but he hadn’t criticized it either. And, after the lesson he left her, murmuring almost to himself that she might usefully fill her practice hours by going over her piece again.  
T’Kell glowed.  
And practised.  
When the knock sounded a second time at the door she heard it.  
She blinked once or twice as her concentration gradually returned her senses to the music room, and she laid down the lytherette and crossed to the door and opened it.  
It was the stranger of the music halls.  
She blinked again, from sheer surprise, and stared wide eyed up at him whilst searching unsuccessfully for something to say and for a reason for his arrival at her door. He rescued her.  
“I apologise if my intrusion has broken your concentration,” said the voice.  
He sounded as though he meant it. So he must be a musician.  
Of course he was a musician. She’d seen him in the music halls.  
“No,” she said. “I mean… that is of no matter. Would… you like to come in?” She stepped aside, and she felt as well as saw him move past her into the little practice room. He had a tangible presence about him which battered at her supremacy in her own territory, and her heart went out retrospectively to the music hall proprietor.  
She could sense perfectly well that there existed no trace on his part of any attempt to encroach on the space of another. His mind was… too… well shielded. It was just what he was. Whatever that was.  
She sat down again and gestured towards the only other seat in the room, a low stool. “Would you like to sit down?”  
He nodded and crossed to it, and gracefully folded his slender frame onto the seat, with the cloak thrown back over his shoulders and spilling down to the floor and his silk-clad arms wrapped informally round his knees.   
It was more than obvious that he had the advantage of her, and she saw no need to battle for things to say. It was up to him to explain himself, and she wished that he would get on with it, instead of looking at her with those deep velvet eyes in that way that made her want to smile at him.   
“T’Kell,” he said after a few endless seconds.  
Sheer surprise again demolished her vantage point with one swipe. “You know my name,” she said with crass needlessness, but he brushed the faux-pas aside and only nodded.  
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”  
He wasn’t doing much better himself.  
“I must explain,” he said, after another brief but heavy pause.  
T’Kell’s replying silence dripped with dignity.  
He had been scrutinizing his clasped hands as though he had never seen them before, but now he looked up at her and gave her the explanation for which she had been waiting in four simple words.  
“My name is Spock,” he said quietly.  
It seemed to her as though every emotion she had ever felt and tried to control burst upon her now, and she could neither speak nor move. He moved instead, clearly aware of the cruelty of their face to face position, and rose and walked quietly to the small window across the room. She stared unseeing at her tightly clenched hands in her lap, and fought against the numbing shock, but then found herself battered by combined distress and anger as the numbness filtered away. After all she had endured since her parents had given her the news, to be caught like this, with no preparation, no chance to….  
Defend herself.  
T’Kell was defenceless, and frightened, and felt herself to be under attack, and reacted without any recourse to her training or intellectual commitments. “Go away,” she said between her teeth. “Go!”  
She could not and did not look up at him, and did not see what effect her reaction had on him. But she was aware of him standing there, and his presence enforced her knowledge that, notwithstanding all her past remarks about ‘off-worlders’, her own behaviour was literally unspeakable.  
She bowed her head and shut her eyes tightly.  
“I am sorry, but I cannot speak with you. Not… now. Please go. I can do nothing.”  
The click of the door released her, and it was more than an hour before she dared emerge from the room and face her world again.

 

The next day she received a message. In it, he apologized for confronting her without the normal formalities of parental introduction. He deeply regretted the discomfiture he had caused her. He would contact her parents and request a meeting with her, and he hoped that she would be able to forgive his thoughtlessness and to talk with him about the future. She stabbed at the erase button on her comm link. He taped her parents, and her mother called to her when they received it and told her, and advised her to cancel any other arrangements for the chosen evening, and said that she should make sure the blue was ready to wear and that she would help her dress her hair if she wished.  
T’Kell broke two more strings on her lytherette, and leaned out of her bedroom window into the night air and asked the night air why it had to be like this. The night air cooled the tears on her cheeks but gave no other reply.  
She felt helpless and ill-used. She felt even more so after he had been to the house. She spoke only in monosyllables throughout the evening, and her parents glared at her. Spock appeared serenely unaware of or unconcerned about the plomeek-like atmosphere, and conversed smoothly and easily to the family until her parents both left the room on separate errands and the two were left alone. T’Kell examined the view from the window intently, and Spock kept a room’s distance between them.  
“T’Kell,” came his voice, quietly but clearly.  
She gave no reply, but he continued.  
“T’Kell, I told your father that the choice was between you and me.”  
T’Kell swallowed, and forced herself to speak.  
“He did not pass the message on.”  
She didn’t see the rueful smile pass across his face at her reply. Nor, since she was still intent on scrutiny of the garden, did she see the overt concern and sympathy which would have caused any other Vulcan witnessing them to recoil. She only heard his voice, which remained as dark brown and as even as ever as it continued.  
“In visiting you unannounced, I was in grave error. I did not do you justice, and I did not treat you with honour.”  
Tingles moved down her neck as though each of his words had touched her body as well as her mind.  
Truth.  
Admission.  
Honour?  
She savoured the concept, and he spoke on, the voice a velvet whisper behind her. “I would join with you if you were willing. I have thought, and I have chosen. You have not. You must do so.”  
Her finger tips were pressed hard on the window sill. She could not fully comprehend his words. She only heard his voice. Nearer?  
“I will wait in the city until you have given me your reply. You can talk with me, or not, as you wish. But I will await your word. From you. And now I must depart.”  
The final five words burst upon her like a cold night desert storm, as his voice hardened with the opening of the door and the re-entry of her father. In vain did Suved exhort him to remain and savour the fruit wine which he had retrieved from the cellar – Spock must leave now, and he did so, with formal bows and thanks all round and scarcely a glance at T’Kell, who watched his dark grey back disappearing out of the grounds and wondered yet again what was happening to her.  
When he was not there she hated him, calmly and placidly and serenely. But when he was with her she felt herself dominated and powerless against his personality, and the hatred dissipated into bewilderment and confusion.  
And how could she contemplate bonding with a man who could dissolve her with a glance or a word or a movement of the head or the raising of an eyebrow? How could she commit herself to a union in which her own authority and position would be destroyed? It mattered no more that he was an off-worlder; it was the Vulcan in him she feared.  
“Perhaps it would be easier for you if I refer you to T’Lei’s beginners class,” said Soran mildly, his eyes not leaving her.  
T’Kell bowed her head over the ill-used lytherette and said nothing. Soran paused, and spoke again.  
“Thou art troubled.”  
It was not a question.  
There was a long silence, and Soran filled it with peace. The tranquility reached across to the girl, and she finally managed to speak.  
“What should I do?” It was just a whisper, but a despairing one.  
Soran did not ask her what she meant, but contemplated his own lytherette resting on his lap. “I heard him play once. At the Festival. It was fifteen years ago.”  
“So he’s good at music too,” said T’Kell, through gritted teeth.  
“He is a Master.”  
“No,” she said, her voice now strangled, remembering the day when she and Soran had walked and talked all one afternoon, and Soran had told her how he believed that, if one could see into the soul of a Master, one would see a soul that was in perfect harmonic with the cycle of existence. A soul of compete maturity and perfection. Music, said Soran, mirrors the soul. That is all.  
“You think I should say yes,” she burst out, and Soran leaned back in his seat and smiled at her, as the tears clouded her eyes again.  
“My little friend,” he said softly. “I have not the slightest doubt of it. He is for you. And you for him.” He paused, and then rose smoothly to his feet and held his arm out towards her. “Come. We will walk. And, if you wish, talk. Leave your music for today.”  
They left the room together.

 

Her parents accompanied her, as was correct, to his family home, and as they stepped down from the car she saw him waiting – all in black against the shimmering gold of the day’s heat, sun glinting on the silver thread in his cloak, and that now familiar look of detached kindness in his face as he turned to await her approach. Parents and watchers disappeared, all swallowed in the same panic which drowned her as the Elder reached for her hand and his and drew them towards each other’s faces and minds.  
She could not. It would be the end of her.  
//Truly?//  
A pause of shock, and then,  
//I?// She felt a tingle of laughter in the newly formed link which was not yet a bond. //I think not. The other way round, perhaps.//  
Anger. //You jest with me.// //Alien.//  
The little thought at the end shamed her, but it was there, and must therefore be seen. She braced herself.  
//Alien, yes. But no jest of any kind. You are far stronger than you know. Why else would I wish to join with you?//  
//I do not know why you would wish to do anything. I do not know you.//  
There was a movement towards her mind which could only be described, when she later tried to describe it, as a caress.  
//Then come, and know me now. T’Kell, I want you.//  
The decision was made then, although later she could never decide who made it. The words began and the bonding began, and finally she relinquished herself and she saw him, briefly, but wholly, completely and truly, as he saw her. And then it was over and they were locked within themselves again with just a golden thread that only they could see to show that they were not two, but one.   
She accompanied him back to the house he had chosen for their home, and neither spoke on the journey. There were few works between them during the next few weeks; they spoke about domestic arrangements where necessary; they commented politely on those items of planetary or interstellar news deemed worthy of notice by people in their social position, and they discussed the arts sometimes, but not her music as this was too close to her for profanity. She saw no-one but him – her parents stayed away and she had no desire to visit them. She did not go out herself, not even to her lessons. She practised her music at home when Spock was out in the city or meditating in his room. She found to her relief that she had plenty of time to play her lytherette and, indeed, whenever she felt the need to forget herself in it, Spock would before too long tell her of a forthcoming meeting in Shikhar or some such errand, and leave the house.  
Before much longer she realised that, of course, this was not a coincidence.  
There existed, after all, that recently formed golden thread, delicate and indissoluble, and there was also his own innate awareness of those around him which she know him to tap and use continually, for good or ill.  
Unfair. She had never known him to use it against anyone, and she knew from that terrible all-revealing glimpse of him that he would not. She knew him, and she poured all her energy during those agonized few weeks into trying to un-know him, to forget, to return to that complacent ignorance of before the Bond, when he was an arrogant imposter, and she a besieged innocent. But now she knew him, and she could not forget, nor lose the shame that embraced her coldly at every recollection that he knew her. Those roles which she had childishly constructed for them were gone with her childhood, and she could not face their reversal. So the weeks passed in pain and half-truths and fearful silence as she awaited the day when she dared and he deigned to openly acknowledge that she had been wrong, and would never reach him.  
And thus passed, without her realizing it, the day when she began to want to reach him. She did not know that it had happened at all, until he went away. He was invited, nay, begged, to deliver a series of lectures at a major conference on Earth. And he agreed, much to the surprise of the organisers, who had not dreamed of securing such a prize. “I will return in three months,” he told her, somewhat absently, as he searched a cupboard for suitable footwear whilst she stood by clutching two coats for him to choose from.  
He took both, finished packing and departed, reminding her once again that he would soon return, and they solemnly took their leave of each other.  
The house was empty. His absence was crushing. She wandered from room to room, trying to relish her freedom, but instead she was able to do nothing but listen to the whispers in her mind which said he may not.  
He may not come back, until…. well, until he had to. Why should he, after all? What was there for him here? What did she offer him? What could she offer him?  
Nothing.  
It was at round this point that T’Kell finally realised not only that she wanted him but just how much she wanted him and in how many ways she wanted him. Alone in the house with only her thoughts and his left-behind possessions for company, she even abandoned the luxury of shame about feelings she should not have. She stopped fighting the desires she thought should not come until subsumed by those flames of which no-one spoke. She sat, she huddled, she withdrew, suspended in time, suspended from reflection, enduring humiliation, and isolation, and a kind of grief; until one evening when, leaning with her cheek against the window as she watched the lengthening shadows on the hills beyond, she heard her own voice lifted in a keening whisper – “I am sorry…”  
She had not intended to speak the words out loud; or even within her mind, and the sound made her start. She moved slowly, straightening herself and stretching slightly after the long stillness, and she fancied that the room felt different. The house felt different.   
What nonsense.   
She rose to her feet, wondering why she felt lighter, relieved, more present. It was meal time. She would eat. And perhaps then practise her piece again…  
She was again doing just that twelve days later, one evening under the arbour in the shade in the garden, engrossed as always and unaware of his presence until the slightest of caresses within the Bond caused her to look up, and she saw him walking towards her through the fading light of day. He raised his arm to move aside an overhanging branch, paused, looked at her, his head again on one side, one eyebrow slightly on the rise. T’Kell moved her lytherette from her lap and set it to one side and stood, her eyes never leaving his. Thoughts suspended again, as she moved towards him and he to her, until his hand reached out for her and she found herself enfolded tightly in his hard alien warmth for the first time.  
“I thought you would not want to come back.” Her voice was quiet, and muffled against his chest.   
That caress again, this time accompanied by a tightening of his arms around her and the brush of his lips against her hair. “T’Kell,” She felt the vibration of the deep dark voice against her cheek. “I did not want to leave. And I came back as soon as you called me.”  
“I called….?” She drew back slightly and looked up at him, as he gently ran his long tapering fingers through her hair and smoothed it back from her face. He nodded, before lowering his lips to hers. //You called me. I had been waiting.// Her mouth opened against his, his tongue stroked hers, her senses caught fire.  
//Is this…?//  
//Is this what?//  
//Is this… what Humans do?//  
His hand moved round to cup her head and draw her even closer to him as his kiss deepened. //It is what I do.//  
At those few stark words, whispered through the Bond, redolent with utter confidence, she felt a stab of desire so strong that she had to fight to breathe. And, with the tightening of her hands on his shoulders there followed a thought; there before she could hide it, deny it. //What else do you do?//  
Shame. Washed away by a silver stream of amusement and affection as his reply sounded in her mind, //Let us go and find out//. He turned, and guided her with the softest of touches on her back towards the house.

 

It was not how she had thought it would be. It was not the way the other women had spoken of it, unknowingly in her hearing. She had thought it would be a time of powerlessness, burning, pain shielded out, endless strength and crushing. It was not. It was quiet, and supremely gentle. It was, in fact, like him.   
She found that she was shy, and hesitated at his suggestion, purred against her throat, that she take off her clothes, and so he doused the lights and he slipped her gown back off her shoulders and down her body by starlight. She found herself held close against his own naked body, their lips moving hard together, tongues pressing and sliding together, and his long graceful hands slipping down to her buttocks and bringing her against his hot hardness. A stab of fear. “I have never….”   
His eyes held hers, his hand moved back up and cupped her head, caressed her hair. “I know.” //Don’t fear// said his eyes and mind. He turned her, and moved her back against the bed; a slight push back, and they lay together.  
He raised himself on one elbow, and watched her face as his free hand stroked her fingertips and her hand and sent inexpressible waves of hot desire all through her body, slackening her thighs, moistening the space between her legs – her lips parted and she heard a whimpering sound which she dimly knew to be her own voice. He bent his head to hers and kissed her again and as he released her hand she wound both her arms around his neck and drew him down closer, until she could feel that hot hardness again. His hand slid down over her hip, and across her thigh to gently nudge her willing thighs further apart. His fingertips stroked, up and down, and then probed softly in, and she found her hips moving up towards his hand – shameless! - //It is permitted// Still that light amusement in his mind voice. //We are married//  
//I thought…The Time….//  
She felt his long middle finger slide right inside her, and then move about and a stab of extraordinary pleasure made her give that whimper again. //No. Not just The Time. Outworlders..// another finger joined the first, pumping gently in and out, and his thumb touched her as well and made her gasp in bliss //Outworlders like to think it is only during The Time. They joke…//  
The two fingers moved in and out of her hot wetness and his thumb moved in circles in rhythm with them, and a feeling of frighteningly intense pleasure built and wouldn’t stop until “Ahh!”. He continued to stroke gently until the pulsing and throbbing died down. “Was that..?”  
“Yes.” He kissed her again, his soft lips soothing the tears of fullness and emotion from her face, and his hand slipped slowly out of her body and cupped her thigh, bringing it up, and out.   
//Now?//  
//Now, beloved, let us join now..//  
Fear had gone.  
He moved over her, settled between her open legs, and she felt the hot smoothness nudge at her opening. Her hands stroked his silken bare shoulders as he rested on his elbows and looked down at her. He pushed. And again. Again.  
So this was what it was like. What they all talked about in secret corners. This fullness, hardness, filling her up and up and stretching her and…“Ah!”   
A sharpness of pain, swiftly gone and more kisses as his hand stroked her face. “T’Kell?”  
“Spock.” She drew him down to her again, and buried her face against his chest. “Spock, uhh, Spock…”  
He moved in her, faster, and harder, all the while holding her, containing her, and this time when that uncontrollable pleasure started to build she wasn’t afraid but allowed it to fill the Bond and join with his growing ecstasy. She found they were moving together. Together. Equal pleasure, equal want, together, until she uttered that cry again and heard his sharp gasps of completion as he buried his face in her neck.  
Breathing slowed. Hands softly caressed. He nuzzled his face closer against her neck and kissed the pulse. “Hmmmm,” she heard his dark brown voice, muffled against her.  
She wiped her tears against his shoulder, and tightened her arms around him.  
She felt him smile.

 

“Why?”  
He turned his head on the pillow to look at her as she lay on her side facing him, her head pillowed on her hand. The starlight made pools of velvet dark in the hollow of his throat and in the sculptured lines of his face. He looked beautiful to her. Why had she never before seen how beautiful he was?  
“Why what?”  
She glanced down momentarily, and then looked up to meet his eyes again. “Why did you choose me? I do not know why you did that?”  
He too turned, and lay on his side to face her amid the tangled sheets. She waited, for the rise of the eyebrow, for the light amused response. They did not come. He reached out towards her and softly brushed her hair away from her forehead and continued the movement down her cheek with lightly burning fingertips. His voice when it came was barely above a whisper.  
“You were… alive,” he said, surprisingly. And knowing that that response was no answer to her question, “You were prepared to refuse me. You were prepared to defy your parents to follow the path you wanted.”  
“You did not know those things when you came to see me.”  
She saw the corner of his mouth quirk. “Nevertheless, I was correct, was I not.”  
She blinked. “I…. But…”  
“I did not wish to bond with a demure Vulcan matron. I do not need a leading House with which to join. I do not need to retain an exemplary household. I do not need to be taught the correct ways of society.” He paused. His hand slid down her arm and his strong fingers took hers in a gentle grasp as he lifted her hand to his lips. Her eyes grew wide as she watched him. “You will live by your own principles. Your own priorities. You will be your own person.”  
“And you will allow this?”  
“I will welcome it.” He leaned forward, and she felt his soft lips brush hers, and then again. “I will welcome the challenge” And then he did smile.. “And besides,” he kissed her again before she could begin to reply to that, and then rolled back onto his back, almost as if to create a safe distance, “you needed a bondmate too, and I am clearly the only one who could handle you.”  
He watched as her eyes widened; and then as they narrowed again.   
“You think you can?” Her voice was deceptively light.  
Through the melting darkness their eyes locked, and the Bond between them sang in exultant harmony and understanding.

 

From the depth of her concentration, T’Kell became aware that he had quietly entered the room and was crossing it towards the desk on which he had left a PADD. Her fingers stilled the strings and she looked up at him, her eyes gradually focusing on him as her consciousness returned her to the present moment, and he turned to her as he moved back towards the door, the PADD in his hand. “Forgive me, my wife. I disturbed you.” He reached for the door handle.  
“Spock.”  
He paused and turned, his head to one side interrogatively.  
“Spock,” she said again. Then she took a deep breath, and carefully put the lytherette aside next to her. “I…” She looked out of the window for a moment, and then turned back to him, as though her mind had somehow been made up about something. “I have composed a piece – Soran has said that it might be a suitable entry for the Festival.”  
“Indeed?” He stood by the door, his hand still on the handle, giving her the time she needed to commit herself to her next sentence. She took a deep breath.  
“I would play it to you, so that you may offer your own opinion as to its suitability.”  
T’Kell breathed in fiercely as she felt herself instantaneously assaulted and almost overwhelmed by a sudden wash of sharp and utterly exultant joy. She was astonished at her own reaction to her statement; and then she realised that of course it was not her own reaction she had felt. It was his.  
She looked sharply up at him, as he still stood by the door, still unmoving. His face showed no expression, and the sensation of joy receded, quite suddenly, as if it had escaped out to play for a moment but had then been reigned in and closed away again. She watched him, as he released the door handle and gracefully moved back across the room, replacing the PADD on the desk as deliberately and as carefully as though it were made of the finest glass. Only when he turned to look at her did she see that his eyes were blazing with an emotion she could not yet name. But his voice was very nearly as even and smooth as always, as he said to her, “T’Kell, I would be honoured.”


End file.
